


The Girl in the Arena

by myusernamehere



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Tumblr: promptsinpanem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 15:17:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3733654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myusernamehere/pseuds/myusernamehere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The first time it happens, it's a knife to the heart." The road to victory is riddled with defeat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Girl in the Arena

The first time it happens, it’s a knife to the heart. 

I cling to the blade with shaky hands as a searing pain rips through my insides, throbbing with an intensity that causes me to gasp for breath. My limbs go weak, as useful as those overcooked noodles in the Capitol, and I collapse to the ground in a state of duress. I can feel the blood seeping out of me, wet and sticky and staining my hands red. My chest is heaving desperately as I search for air that can’t seem to fill my lungs, and I try to get my mind to focus, to figure out a way to save myself. But death abounds all around me, bloodcurdling cries of agony that trickle through my consciousness and embed themselves into the lining of my flesh. 

If I pull the knife out, the blood gushes faster, and I’m dead within seconds. But if I leave the knife in, I die anyway, even if it’s bit by bit. By now, my body is in shock from the adrenaline flowing through my veins. I don’t feel the pain anymore as I stare up at an unfamiliar sky. Instead, I feel dizzy and numb, my body trembling with a cold sweat as the life slowly drains out of me. 

I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have made the run toward that golden, horn-shaped cone that seemed like salvation only moments ago. I really thought I could get there, grab the bow and arrow, have a chance at survival. Haymitch warned me that I shouldn’t, that I wasn’t up to the task, and even that damn Peeta Mellark shook his head at me like he knew I was going to make a fool of myself. I overestimated my abilities, listened to neither of them. 

And now I lie here in a puddle of blood, clinging to my last seconds on this planet. I can practically see my mentor shaking his head with disappointment, his words ricocheting around in my skull as though to torment me one last time. 

“Congratulations, sweetheart. Went and got yourself killed not even a minute into the Games.”

At least he doesn’t have to pretend to care about me anymore. Like I was anything special anyway. We were all deluding ourselves with that one. Now Haymitch can get drunk to his heart’s content, which is what he really wants. Or maybe he’ll actually attempt to save Peeta. Maybe my death will win him some kind of sympathy with viewers and sponsors alike. 

 _Did you hear about the star-crossed lovers from District 12? How sad for them._  

Yes, how very tragic. 

My eyes flutter closed, and I see my sister Prim. My beautiful Prim with her big blue eyes and gentle soul. She’s probably inconsolable at this point, watching me slip away when she’s thousands of miles away, unable to do anything about it. I promised her that I would try to win, that I would try to make it back home, and I failed her. I failed her miserably. The only way I’ll make it home now is in a body bag. 

Memories flash through my mind like little fragments of glass. They fire off all at once, shiny and distorted and chaotic in my brain. I see my father before his death, teaching me how to use a bow and arrow for the first time; I see my mother overcome by depression after the accident in the mines; I see Gale and me hunting in the woods; I see myself volunteering in my sister’s place at the reaping. 

The last thing I see is a mess of blonde curls and curious blue eyes peering at me from behind a very hostile woman. She’s screaming at me to get off her property, hurling insults in my direction as blistering cold rain pours down upon me and drenches my skin. But I’m unable to make myself move, too weak and exhausted by hunger. My teeth chatter, and my bones ache as I stare listlessly ahead, thinking it might be better just to give up right here and now. I can’t go home to my starving baby sister with absolutely nothing to feed her. I wouldn’t even be able to look at her. At this point, she would be better off in a community home. Better off without me. 

I once again hear noises coming from inside the bakery, more yelling and insults from the baker’s witch of a wife. And then the young boy with the blonde hair and blue eyes steps outside with several loaves of burnt bread. I don’t miss the fresh welt by his eye as he tears into the bread and throws several pieces to the pigs. Then he looks around to make sure nobody’s watching before throwing the loaves of bread in my direction. I stare at them with shock and relief as I inhale my last breath. 

Then I’m swallowed by darkness.

 

****

 

I startle awake, my hand flying to my chest. There’s no knife buried there, no blood pouring out. As I gather my bearings and focus my eyes, I notice I’m in bed, back in the District 12 living quarters of the Capitol. I try to calm myself with soothing words, breathing deeply in and out. 

 _I’m not dead. It was just a nightmare._  

It felt so vivid, so real. I’m already dreaming about dying in the Games. But I can’t afford to do that. I have to get my head screwed on right. 

My stylist Cinna comes to fetch me for the roof, and a hovercraft appears to bring us to the arena. I cling to the ladder it drops down, frozen in place by some kind of current, and try to wedge that horrible nightmare from my consciousness. They put a tracker in me, and then I’m released by the current. Cinna and I are directed to a room with breakfast waiting for us. I try to eat as much as I can despite how anxious I feel, and by the time we reach the catacombs beneath the arena, I can’t deny this strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s not the same as the nervousness that permeates my entire system. I don’t know quite how to explain it except that there’s a sensation of déjà vu taking over me. It’s almost as if I’ve done this once before. 

The longer I spend in those catacombs, showering, braiding my hair, dressing in the required clothing I’ve been given, the more familiar this all seems to become. The idea in itself is ridiculous of course; the day just started. I haven’t gone to the arena yet. But I just can’t seem to shake it. When I’m finished dressing, Cinna retrieves the gold mockingjay pin from his pocket that my friend Madge had given me.

“Where did you get that?” I ask. But then immediately I feel like I know his answer, from the green outfit I wore on the train. He repeats my thought almost word for word before confirming it’s my district token and fastening it to my jacket. 

My anxiety transforms into full-blown terror as the minutes tick by, and we wait. When Cinna asks me if I want to talk, I can’t even fathom a word to say, nevermind get my tongue to cooperate. So we sit in silence. And I try to dismiss the voice in the back of my head that keeps telling me this has all already happened. 

 _It hasn’t already happened!_ I shout at that nagging voice. If it had, clearly I would be dead. And I’m not dead. 

Am I? 

Thankfully, by the time I’m standing atop the metal plate in the arena, my survival instinct ramps up, blocking out all other voices inside of me. My eyes bounce around quickly, surveying the scenery around us, before landing on the Cornucopia some forty yards ahead. And there, glistening in the late morning sun, sits a bow and arrow. I want to make a run for it. Maybe I can. I know Haymitch told me not to, but he’s never seen me run. It might be my only shot. But as I search for Peeta among the other tributes, my district partner shakes his head at me. Suddenly, I’m back inside that nightmare. And as the gong rings out, I hesitate briefly. 

No, I can’t run to the Cornucopia. I’ll die. I’m not sure where that idea comes from, but it’s as clear as crystal in my mind. Still, I feel like I can’t head toward the woods with nothing. There’s a bright orange backpack several yards away, and I lunge toward it. The boy I recognize from District 9 attempts to grab it at the same time before spraying my face with a mouthful of blood. I realize there’s a knife in his back and briefly glance upon the girl from District 2 who must have thrown it. I want to stagger in disgust. But instead, I scramble to my feet and make a mad dash for the forest, instinctively guarding myself with the backpack. It catches the knife that was meant for my head, and I think it will be a useful weapon as I disappear into the trees.   

Lots of tributes die in the bloodbath at the Cornucopia, almost half of us. But none of them are me. 

I feel grateful for that nightmare as I trek through the woods, searching for water. It’s so hot out here, this artificial heat causing my body to perspire harshly, and my main goal now is to find water. That’s what Haymitch told me I needed to do, and he’s right. With the temperature the way it is now, I won’t last for more than a couple days without it. 

But by nightfall, I have yet to find any, and I know it’s not safe for me all alone in the dark. So I climb a tree, setting out my sleeping bag, and tether myself to it with my belt. I don’t know how Peeta is faring, if he’s still alive. When the cannons went off earlier to signify the fallen tributes, I feared he may have been killed already. And that thought made me inexplicably sad. We’re not friends, Peeta and me. We never have been, despite Haymitch’s insistence that we play up some kind of unified front in the days leading up to the Games. And even despite Peeta’s declaration that he’s had a crush on me forever during his interview with Caesar Flickerman. That was just some strategy he and Haymitch conjured up to win us favor with the audience anyway. 

I was angry at him for his superiority, the fact that his biggest concern was not having the Capitol change him into something he’s not when all I’m trying to do is survive and get back to my sister by whatever means necessary. But now that I’ve witnessed all this death, I can’t help but be sad at the notion that he might not have made it. That he might be dead already. He’s the boy with the bread, the one that saved me from starvation when we were just eleven years old. I’ve owed him a debt all this time, and now I’ll never be able to repay it. 

But I suppose it doesn’t matter. And maybe it’s for the best. I wouldn’t want to be the one to have to kill him. 

A little while later, I hear the anthem that precedes the death recap and see the seal of the Capitol in the sky. It turns out Peeta isn’t dead. Not yet anyway. And the relief that courses through me is palpable, even in light of my earlier decision. I tell myself it’s because, if I don’t win, I want _him_ to win. His victory would most benefit Prim and my mother, as well as my entire district who will be fed for a year. But my confusion about my feelings for Peeta also rings true. I don’t know what to make of his acts of kindness or his strategy or even the fact that I might have to face him in this arena at some point. So I try to stop fretting about it. I try to stop focusing on him at all. 

Unfortunately, that’s a tactic that doesn’t last for long. Because the Career tributes show up to kill a girl who’s making a fire not too far away from me. And I get the biggest surprise in the form of one of their allies. 

It’s Peeta. 

I almost fall out of my tree when I hear his voice. How could he align himself with these blood thirsty tributes? They volunteered for these Games. They want to be here, want to bring “honor” to their districts by killing a bunch of helpless kids. And what they want most of all right now is to find me, to _kill_ me. The girl that made a mockery of them during the tribute parade and the private sessions with the Gamemakers. 

 _What a hypocrite he is!_ I think. All this talk about not wanting to lose himself, about remaining true to who he is, and the first chance he gets, he follows the pack. I understand wanting to survive. I understand that more than anything. But his new alliance leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, and that bitterness tastes like betrayal. 

My biggest problem the next day isn’t Peeta or the Careers, though. I still haven’t found water. And as the day wears on, my head starts to throb, my tongue as dry as the desert. Fatigue settles, and I have to stop frequently. I spend another night in a tree. Morning is worse. It’s so hard to even move, and my thoughts are all cloudy as I try to push on. I search and search for a pond or a lake, but the only one I know is back by the Cornucopia. And I will never make it there without collapsing. Where are those sponsors we worked so hard to achieve? Surely I have some. Unless Peeta has ruined our star-crossed lovers appeal with his new alliance. 

Suddenly, I’m angry. At Peeta. At myself for thinking he might care about me in some strange way. Obviously, that was all an act. Maybe when we were younger, he was the kind young baker’s boy who risked a beating to throw me some bread. But since we’ve arrived here in the Capitol? Everything he’s done has been a part of some bigger, overarching strategy to stay alive. And while I obviously can’t fault him for wanting to live, I _can_ fault him for making me trust him. For making me think he was good. 

He’s just as bad as the rest of them. And now I’m going to die because the sponsors were turned off from Peeta’s new plan. Haymitch is probably drunk off his ass somewhere. He can’t even be bothered to do his one job. Or maybe he can. And maybe he knows that Peeta has more chance at survival now that he has an “in” with those Careers. Maybe he’s chosen Peeta over me. 

“Damn you, Haymitch,” I mutter to myself. “Damn you both.” 

I keep walking, keep hoping for some kind of small miracle, even as my skin cracks and burns beneath the harsh sunlight. I can’t die. I can’t. Prim needs me. But every single step is an effort. And by afternoon, my legs are shaking, my heart racing a mile a minute. The end is near. This, too, somehow feels familiar. And as I collapse on the ground once more, I think of my nightmare a few days prior. Maybe it wasn’t a nightmare. Maybe I have been here before, right on the cusp of death. 

My eyes close. Nobody is coming to save me. And while everything inside of me wants to fight this, I just don’t have any more energy. I was never going to win anyway. I don’t know why I thought I could. 

Peeta Mellark might have saved me once. But he’s responsible for my death now. 

That’s the last thought that streaks through my mind as the world evaporates around me, and then there’s nothing but black.

 

****

 

The third time I die, I’m engulfed by flames.

 

****

 

I’m trapped inside a real-life nightmare. I wake up in my bed in the Capitol, come to this torture chamber known as the arena, find a new way to die, and start all over again. But I’m not dreaming. I’m reliving this awful, terrifying death trap, and for some reason I don’t understand, I have my own reset button. Each time I fail, each time my heart stops and I slip into the ether, I get another chance. But another chance to do what? Fill myself with hope that I might make it somehow, that I might learn from my mistakes and further my quest toward victory? Because every time I learn from one mistake, there’s another I find myself making. And each death is equally horrible and cruel. 

I didn’t dehydrate last time. I was close to it, and I almost succumbed once again. But when I closed my eyes, I stopped thinking about how much Peeta and Haymitch had failed me. I stopped blaming them for my prior death and started blaming myself. In his own weird way, Haymitch had always tried to help me. Maybe I missed some kind of sign along the way. Maybe he wasn’t sending me water because he knew I could find it if I stopped wallowing in self-pity long enough. And Peeta? Well, Peeta was doing what he had to do for himself. I would probably do the same in his situation if I’m being truly honest. Besides, he didn’t control the sponsors anymore than I did. And if I trusted him too much? Again, that was on me. I knew better than to get attached during a fight to the finish.

As I lay there with my newfound attitude, I thought about how much I loved mud. It was strange to be thinking about mud when I was about to die once again, but I suddenly realized I was thinking about mud because I was lying in mud. 

 _Mud!_ my brain finally screamed at me. I was lying in mud. And that had to mean water was nearby. I found the pond only a few yards away, and I felt foolish for thinking Haymitch had abandoned me. In fact, he had more faith in me than I had in myself. 

But then the Gamemakers must have gotten bored because the forest lit up with a wall of fire. They were pointing me in some direction; I suspected toward other tributes. And even as I dodged fireballs and choked on smoke, I thought maybe I had learned my lesson. Stop blaming others, listen to your instincts, _survive_ dammit. 

But I was too slow with that last fireball, and the wail of agony that erupted from my throat as my skin and hair became singed to a crisp echoed throughout the entire forest. As I burned to death that day, I shuddered to think what the next time might bring. 

Right now, I’m treed by the Careers. I escaped the horror of the fireball, though the flames did manage to lick my hands and thigh. Climbing this tree was excruciating with my injuries, but thankfully that boy from District 2, Cato, is too heavy for the branches to sustain, and he fell back down when he came after me. That Glimmer girl from District 1 can’t aim very well with the bow and arrow she confiscated from the Cornucopia, either. It should be mine. Peeta suggested they waited until morning to come up with a new plan to get me down, since it was getting dark, so here I sit with my boiled, blistered skin. 

Rue, the young girl from District 11 whose eyes always followed me around the training center, appears in the tree next to me, much to my surprise. If that’s what she showed the Gamemakers in her private lessons, it’s no wonder she scored a 7! She points to the nest high above my head, and I can’t make out what it is at first. But then I know. It’s a wasp nest. And not just any wasp nest. Genetically altered wasps known as tracker jackers. When they sting someone, they release a venom that triggers powerful hallucinations and death in some cases. I use the knife I acquired to cut through the branch during the anthem, but I only make it about three-fourths of the way through before it goes off. In the meantime, Haymitch sends me a parachute with medicine for my burns. And for the first time in a long time, I finally don’t feel so hopeless. Somebody out there is looking out for me. 

Maybe I’ll make it after all. 

In the morning, with the Careers and Peeta having finally fallen asleep, I begin to saw the rest of the branch off, but the tracker jackers are no longer sedated from the smoke, and I feel one of them sting me in the process. It’s painful, but I persevere. I have experienced worse at this point. When the knife cuts through the branch completely, the nest crashes to the ground and bursts open. They begin attacking me, making me dizzy with their poison, and the Careers and Peeta are up in a flash, screaming and swatting as they head in the opposite direction toward the lake. But the girl from District 4 and Glimmer aren’t so lucky to get away from them. As they swarm around Glimmer, she starts shrieking like a mad woman, trying to fling them off of her. I scurry down the tree and submerge myself in a pool of water until she finally stops flopping on the ground. 

I’m swollen where I’ve been stung, and the points of entry are the size of plums with gooey green pus oozing out of them. Suddenly, through the fog of confusion in my mind, I remember that she has the bow and arrow, and I make my way back to her. I try to ease it from her grip, having to break several of her fingers just to get the bow loose, and everything is starting to spin and shake around me. Her wounds open, sending that dreadful green liquid spurting into the air. I’m desperate not to get sick, not to hyperventilate. But the sheath of arrows is trapped underneath her body, and when I try to move her, parts of her flesh disintegrate in my hands. 

I finally get it free when I hear them trampling through the forest. The Careers are coming back for me, and I know I’m all but done for when Peeta comes barreling toward me. He lowers the spear in his hand, staring at me with incredulity. 

“What are you still doing here?” he hisses. And I can’t tell if this is real or if I’m hallucinating. I’m just as incredulous, staring stupidly. He sparkles as he screams, “Run!” 

I see Cato cutting his way through the forest with his sword, and I stagger to my feet with the bow and arrow, barging into the trees. I try to run as the world becomes violent and hazy before my eyes, bright colors exploding everywhere, blood dripping from the trees. Ants crawl out of my hands, and I start swiping at them when the most awful pain imaginable washes through me once again. I crumble to the ground like a pile of sand, the buzzing in my ears so loud I think the canals might burst. I realize the tracker jackers have found me, hunting me down for disturbing their nest. 

Their venom flows straight to my heart, and as I die for the fourth time, I have one final realization. 

Peeta Mellark just tried to save me.

Again.

 

****

 

I burst into thousands of tiny pieces, getting caught in an explosion when I try to blow up the supplies at the Cornucopia. I get speared by the boy from District 1 when I try to save Rue. I attempt, and fail, to save her in an endless number of ways. But even when I do, she dies a few hours later. He always finds us. He always kills her. I always kill him in return. Worn down by grief, exhaustion, and the knowledge that no matter what I do, she will die, I finally stop hitting my own reset button. 

I want this to end. I want this to end altogether. And maybe the only way to make that happen is to claim victory. Now I don’t need to win just for Prim or Rue. I need to win to get out of this nightmare. 

I wish I wasn’t so alone.

 

****

 

“No,” Peeta says firmly. “You’re not risking your life for me.” 

They changed the rules. Two victors can now win the 74th Hunger Games if they’re from the same district. After the proclamation was made, I went looking for him. I knew he was injured but alive; I saw him fight off Cato to allow me to escape. But the only way he could have survived dehydration was if he had a water source of some sort. That’s how I knew where to look, along the stream. And then I saw the blood. 

“You here to finish me off, sweetheart?” Sweetheart, like Haymitch calls me. He had camouflaged himself to blend in with the muddy waters and the moss. It was incredible, seamless even. I knew he frosted the cakes at his parents’ bakery; he had informed me of this particular talent before the Games. But this was even more ingenious. When he closed his eyes and mouth, he disappeared. Apparently baking and wrestling and charming a crowd with his words weren’t his only talents. 

I cleaned him up and tried to heal the wounds he had with my burn medicine and the leaves Rue taught me about that helped with the tracker jacker stings. It was disgusting, particularly the huge gash in his thigh from Cato’s sword. I wasn’t built to be a healer like my mother or Prim. I didn’t particularly have the stomach for it. But there was only so much I could do for him; he had blood poisoning. And even with the pills I gave him to help his fever, I knew there wasn’t a whole lot else I could do. 

Except stay by his side. Because I wasn’t going to leave him. Even though he made me more vulnerable now, and even though I had to find a cave rather than a tree to hide us in, there was no way I would leave him. We’ve been in this cave for a couple of days now. He’s getting worse. But I can’t listen to him talk about what happens if he doesn’t make it. I won’t listen to it. I won’t even let him say it. When he tries to, I cut him off with a kiss. My very first kiss. His lips are hot from fever, but I figure that will distract him. Soon after, a parachute with a pot of broth appears out of the sky. It’s a clear message from Haymitch about what he wants me to do. Play up the romance angle. We’re supposed to be star-crossed lovers after all. 

Peeta Mellark has never been a threat to me, I now know. He’s only been trying to look out for me, save me. And I keep owing him, somehow. So now it’s my turn to look out for him. Now it’s my turn to _save_ him. 

When he asks me to tell him a story, I weave the tale of how I got Prim’s goat Lady for her. I have to lie about the real reason I got the money to buy her, since hunting is illegal in our district. But he seems pleased by the memory of it, how it made me happy. I spend a lot of time kissing him and coaxing him to eat and curling up beside him in the sleeping bag. He’s great at this whole pretending to love me thing. Sometimes I catch myself believing he means it. But then I remind myself that’s just how persuasive he is. It’s nice to pretend sometimes. It’s nice to have the company. 

But I don’t want him to die. Not like Rue. So when the trumpet sounds, and Claudius Templesmith makes the announcement about the feast, about how they will provide each of us remaining tributes with the one thing we desperately need, I know I have to go. It’s medicine for his leg. Peeta knows this as well, which is why he tells me he won’t let me risk my life for him. I tell him I won’t go at first, and we both know I’m lying. Of course I will. But he insists he’ll follow me, make a big ruckus. Probably get himself killed in the process. He’s just stubborn enough to do it, too. 

He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know what it’s like to watch somebody you care about die right in front of you. Over and over again. Repeatedly. I did that already. I can’t do it again. It’s a fate worse than my own death, no matter what kind of hell I’m put through in the process. Besides, he would do it for me. He would do it in a heartbeat. And I honestly couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try. 

Peeta promises me he won’t die if I don’t go. I promise I won’t go. Then Haymitch sends me a sleep syrup to knock him out for at least a day. I go anyway. 

When Clove, the girl from District 2, is gutting me like a fish in front of the Cornucopia later, I don’t think of my own torment. I think of how my death means certain death for him as well. I’ve failed him like I’ve failed Rue. And he won’t know. He’ll wake up in that cave all alone thinking that I’ve abandoned him. Or that I’ve betrayed him with that sleep syrup. I have. But this is my way of thanking him for what he did for me all those years ago with the bread. What he did for me in this very arena. And he won’t know that either. 

I tried, Peeta. I really did.

 

****

 

When I see him again by the stream, I smile. Maybe that’s not the appropriate reaction given his current circumstance. But I can’t help it. I’m so relieved I have another chance to make this right. I’m so relieved he’s here. 

I still knock him out. I still go to the Cornucopia. But this time I take a cue from the tribute I call Foxface and jump out the second the backpacks appear. I get there first, grabbing mine as well as the others before taking off for the trees once again. I think it’s a good idea because the others won’t have what they desperately need, and maybe that will be their downfall. It’s a stupid idea. Clove hunts me down with a knife to the back. 

I’m dead before I even register it.

 

****

 

I like spending time with Peeta. I’m getting to know the boy with the bread. He’s suffering, racked by fever and a horrible leg wound. But I enjoy his company still. He’s funny, something I don’t think I ever really took the time to appreciate. How could I when I was so worried about my imminent death? He likes to draw in his spare time. I’m sure he’s as good at that as he is with camouflage. If we ever get out of here, he’ll draw something for me, he says. When he asks me about my happiest day, I tell him the story about Lady again. He appreciates that story. And I want to give him any bit of joy I can. 

I ask him about his happiest day. I expect him to say something about the bakery. Or maybe it was that time he came in second place during the wrestling match at school. 

“It was the first time I saw you,” he tells me. 

I laugh a little, like I’m offended by the very notion. Why would seeing me make anybody happy? But then I realize once again that he has to say things like that. I keep forgetting. He’s just so damn convincing. 

Maybe he’s convinced himself, too. 

He recounts the story with great detail, the way his father pointed me out to him the first day of school because I was the daughter of the man she left him for. I don’t believe it. That can’t be true, can it? The baker and my mother? I wonder why she would leave him. Because, he says. My father had a voice that was so beautiful, even the birds stopped to listen when he sang. And that I _do_ know to be true. 

Peeta has a remarkable memory, even in ill health. He remembers everything about that day. The color of my dress, the fact that my hair was in two braids instead of one, the way my hand shot up when the teacher asked who knew the valley song. And most especially, the way I sang. Every single bird outside our window fell silent when I did it, he tells me. After that, he was a goner, just like my mother. He would spend the next eleven years watching my every move, trying to work up the nerve to talk to me without success. 

Until the reaping. 

I go back to the feast at the Cornucopia. I sling the backpack with the number 12 up my arm, leaving the others behind. Clove still finds me. Another knife in the back. If I ever want to move on, I have to face her and kill her. 

This time when I’m dying, I think about how glad I am I get a couple more days with Peeta.

 

****

 

Clove is on top of me, pinning me down with her weight. Taunting me. Talking about the way she’s going to kill me like they killed Rue. Cato promised her she could have me if she gave everybody a show. As I prepare for my death yet again, she’s suddenly yanked back by some unforeseen force. Thresh is towering over her, demanding to know if she killed Rue. I haven’t seen him since the Games began. She denies it, screams for Cato. He bashes her head in with a rock. 

I think he’s going to kill me as well. But he asks me about his district partner, the tiny birdlike girl I can never quite save. I tell him about how she was my ally, about how she died, about the way I covered her in flowers upon her death. How their district gave me bread in thanks. He decides to spare me this one time. 

For Rue. 

I’m bleeding from a large cut above my eyebrow, thanks to the knife Clove aimed at my head. I clamber toward the forest, trying to stop the flow of blood as I rush back to the cave where I’ve left Peeta. I’m petrified Cato will come after me, but I take comfort in knowing that Thresh took his backpack with the thing he desperately needed. So there’s a good chance Cato will go after him instead. When I get back, I rip open the backpack, and as quickly as possible, I grab the hypodermic needle inside of it and stab Peeta in the arm. I pass out shortly after. 

When I come to a while later, I’m surprised to find myself still in the cave. I didn’t die. Peeta decides it’s his turn to take care of me. Thankfully, the medicine in that needle seemed to work miracles. He looks a million times better, so much more healthy and alert. He wonders what happened at the feast, and I tell him everything, letting it all flow out of me like water. The explosion at the Cornucopia, killing the boy from District 1, Rue’s death. I tell him about Thresh letting me go for her sake so we’re even. 

When he seems confused, I tell him it’s like the bread. How I can never seem to stop owing him for that. He tells me that I should let it go, that it was forever ago, that I just brought him back from the dead. But I can’t let it go. It’s been eating me up inside for the last five years. And if I don’t get this out now, I might never work up the nerve to do it again. 

“I never understood why you did that for me. You didn’t even know me. So why?” 

“Katniss,” he says softly. “You know why.” Maybe I do. Maybe I know now that all of this is real for him and not just some charade for the Games. But I didn’t know then. 

“Peeta, I wouldn’t even be here now if you hadn’t helped me that day. That’s the truth. You saved me from starvation, and you risked a beating to do it. Nobody else showed me that same kindness. And it reminded me that there is some good left in this world. You gave me hope when all hope was lost. You gave me strength to battle on another day. And I learned that I _could_ battle on another day. I could feed my family, and I could survive.” 

Peeta stares at me intently, and I swallow the lump in my throat, blinking back the tears that sting my eyes. 

“I’m not good with words like you are. I never knew how to tell you; the timing just never seemed right. And then the reaping happened. But I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for saving me. And thank you for being my dandelion in the spring.” 

I feel weightless as the words leave my lips, as if keeping them locked inside of me all these years has burdened me considerably. Even if I never make it out of this arena, at least now he knows. He continues to stare at me, not saying a word. The silence is deafening, and I fear I might implode if he doesn’t stop looking at me like that. 

“Please say something,” I whisper. 

He moves in closer to me, so close that I can make out just how blue his irises are, even in the darkness of this cave. They bring me a sense of comfort as I disappear into them, reminding me of home. Like the sky high above the trees in the forest where I hunt or the lake where my father taught me how to swim as a little girl. Those are my happy places, the places where I can be myself and find some true inner peace. 

As the thought of sanctuary and Peeta Mellark begin to swirl around inside my brain, I notice him wet his lips. “We save each other,” he breathes at last. Then he kisses me. 

And it’s not like any of the other kisses we’ve had before, both of us struck by fever or injury. This is the first kiss in which we have all of our faculties in check. And it’s the first kiss that makes me want another. No, not just want another. _Need_ another. His lips are gentle at first, coaxing my own with his leisured strokes, trying to memorize every detail of my mouth. I angle my face for easier access, and his hands cup my cheeks, fingers threading through my hair. I open my mouth slightly, and his tongue snakes out timidly, as though seeking permission from me. I give him what he seeks, caressing his tongue with my own and moaning softly into his kiss as an unfamiliar but wonderful warmth shoots through me. It starts somewhere in my chest and spreads through the very fibers of my being. 

It feels so good, so impossibly good, that I know I won’t be the first one to pull away. In fact, I think kissing Peeta Mellark might be my new favorite hobby.

 

****

 

It rains for days. Haymitch sends us a feast of fresh rolls, apple tarts, goat cheese, and the lamb stew I grew so fond of in the Capitol. It’s delicious, but we make ourselves ration our portions. We don’t know how long we will need it to last. Thresh dies sometime during the storm. Cato must’ve finally found him. It makes me sad. I tell Peeta we probably would’ve been friends with him under different circumstances. 

We go hunting for more food when the rain finally stops. Peeta’s injury makes him extra heavy-footed, so I give him the task of digging roots while I hunt. We have a nice little picnic out in the open woods, still on guard at all times but thankful to be filling our bellies with food. Peeta engages me in more conversation. What’s my favorite color? Green, I tell him. His is orange because it makes him think of sunset. He tells me more stories of his childhood, both good and bad. Like wrestling with his brothers. Or the first cake he ever decorated. I learn his family can’t afford most of the stuff they sell at the bakery, only if it’s gone stale. In fact, almost everything they eat is stale. This is surprising for me to hear. I always assumed they ate quite well. At least when I hunt, my family always eats fresh food. And the fact that he’s lived a life of stale bread is pretty depressing, actually. 

There are so many things about Peeta Mellark I never knew. 

I’m so busy hanging off of his every word that I don’t even remember popping a few berries into my mouth. He’s mid-sentence when I keel over and die.

 

****

 

I don’t know how long I’ve actually been in this cave with Peeta. A few days to his knowledge, much more to mine. Without the threat of him dying looming over my head at every turn, I feel much more relaxed and at ease. I find myself sharing more things with him, things only the people closest to me know. Like Prim. Or Gale. I used to think of Gale a lot while I was kissing Peeta. I used to wonder what he thought of this situation between us. It made me feel guilty. Gale’s not my boyfriend. He never was, just my hunting partner. Just my friend. But I think I’ve always thought of him as mine in some weird way. 

Now I think of him much less often. I think of the way Peeta smiles, with such genuine sweetness that it always seems to catch me off guard, leaving me feeling warm and giddy. I think about the way he looks at me and how my stomach coils into little corkscrews when he does. I think about the way he holds me when we sleep, how I feel safer with him than I have with anyone since my father. I think about his lips and the way he tastes. 

We laugh a lot. We stay wrapped in each other’s arms. 

I ask him if he’s scared of death. 

“Dying doesn’t scare me anymore. Losing you scares me.” 

He jokes that he doesn’t have much competition in this arena. I tell him he doesn’t have much competition anywhere. Peeta’s not the only one who can be convincing. 

I’m pretty sure I’ve convinced myself.

 

****

 

Foxface dies when she accidentally consumes the poison berries I inhaled before. Nightlock, they’re called. And they can kill a person pretty instantaneously. If I had been paying attention, I never would have eaten them. Or even added them to our picnic. I just thought they might be a nice treat for Peeta. Thankfully, I ate them before he did. There’s no way I would ever forgive myself if I killed him because of some silly oversight. This time, Peeta finds the berries and brings them to our picnic. I freak out, telling him not to eat them. _They’re poison!_ I scream. Then I hear a cannon boom in the sky and think Cato’s found us. When I whirl around in a panic, Peeta is standing there. I grip him tightly, trembling, and bury my tear-streaked face into his shirt. I’m so grateful to hear his still beating heart. 

The clever girl with the foxlike features who always seemed to outsmart me and everybody else in this arena was finally outsmarted herself. She trusted that Peeta knew what he was doing with those berries, and she figured we wouldn’t eat them if they weren’t safe. She was wrong. Peeta feels bad about it. But now it’s just us against Cato. We might actually make it home. I save some of the berries just in case.

  


****

 

Cato charges right past us, his face stricken with horror. And then I see the reason why. A pack of wolf mutts created by the Capitol are on his tail, snarling viciously. I grab Peeta and make a beeline for the Cornucopia, but it’s difficult for him to run as quickly with his injured leg. I try to drag him along, running with all of my might. When we finally reach the golden horn, he hoists me up with his hands. I see Cato lying on the ground, wearing some kind of body armor as he shakes and gasps for breath. I grab Peeta’s hand, pulling him up with me. 

But these mutts are extra sinister, able to stand on their hind legs like humans. And when I look into their eyes, a shiver creeps up my spine. I would recognize those eyes anywhere. It can’t be possible, can it? Is the Capitol really that demented that they would put the eyes of all of the dead tributes into these creatures? But then I think of all that they’ve done to me and to so many other helpless children, and I think yes. Yes, they absolutely would. 

One of the mutts is able to leap onto the horn, landing only feet below us. I shoot at it with one of my arrows, but they’re relentless. They split into two groups, using their powerful hind legs to leap at us. A pair of teeth clenches into Peeta’s leg, and he yelps out in pain. I throw down my bow and launch myself at him, filled with dread as I pull on his arms with every ounce of strength I can muster. The mutt tears into his skin, breaking the surface, and I begin to panic as I see the blood pouring out of the gaping hole in his leg. His cries of agony are devoured by the night. 

“Peeta!” I scream, feeling like my heart is about to shrivel up. They can’t take him from me. They just can’t. I yank and claw at every bit of him I can grasp onto. “Peeta, no!” I beg desperately, tears streaming down my cheeks. I can’t reach for my bow and arrow because if I let go for even a second, he’s gone. 

“Katniss,” Peeta croaks, staring up at me with resignation on his face. I can see the pain flicker in his eyes, and it stings to my very core. I feel his grip loosening, slipping out of my hands, and I clutch him as hard as I possibly can, digging my heels into the ground. 

“Don’t you dare, Peeta Mellark. Don’t you _dare_ give up on me!” I bellow, a sopping mess of tears. My vision is clouded, my pulse pounding in my ears.

“Let me go,” he pleads. “You can win, Katniss. You can go home. Just let me go.”

“I can’t!” I wail. I’m hysterical at this point, shrieking at the sky. I can’t let go of the boy with the bread. I never could. And I know I never will. 

I can feel us sliding closer and closer to the edge, but not just the edge of the Cornucopia. I’m about to topple over the brink of insanity. Then one of the other mutts manages to jump high enough to bite into a different part of his calf. He howls as they tug together, and he slips right out of my hands, jerked to the ground. For a few seconds, I stand frozen in absolute terror, unable to breathe as I watch the mutts tear him apart inch by inch and listen to his helpless, harrowing screeching below. 

None of my deaths, not being poisoned to death, not being blown to bits, not being charred alive, _none_ of them are even close to as painful as this moment right here. I gather my wits to reach for my bow, wanting to put him out of his misery as quickly as possible. But by the time I get it loaded with an arrow, it’s too late. He’s already dead. I turn on my heel slowly, seeing Cato pushing himself up into a standing position. 

I could do it. I could kill Cato right now with this arrow. I could finally escape this nightmare once and for all. Go home to Prim and my mother and Gale. Return as a victor and never have to watch my family starve again. 

I look over the edge of the Cornucopia. The pack of mutts is still there, munching on pieces of Peeta’s flesh. It takes me all of two seconds to decide. 

I drop the arrow and jump to my death.

  


****

 

“Run, Peeta! Run!” 

We’re ahead of the pack now, running toward the Cornucopia. Cato is hot on our trail. As we get to the golden horn, Peeta heaves me up onto it, and then I pull him up quickly, ushering him behind me so he’s nowhere near the ledge. I grab my bow and arrow, waiting for Cato to get closer. And just when he does, I launch the arrow straight into his chest. He falls down instantaneously, dead, and the ground swallows the pack of mutts. 

With wide eyes, I turn toward Peeta. His eyes are just as wide. 

 _Did we just win?_  

We hug each other tightly, waiting for some kind of victory announcement. We climb off the Cornucopia, looking around in a daze. I arm myself with my bow and arrow just in case. Then we hear the proclamation from above. There’s been another rule change. The previous revision allowing for two victors from the same district to win has been revoked. There can only be one. 

“Good luck,” Claudius Templesmith tells us. “And may the odds be ever in your favor.” 

I feel as though my lungs just collapsed. Peeta turns to me once more, staring at the weapon in my hand. 

“Go ahead. Do it,” he says. 

I just stare at him blankly. They were never going to let two of us be victors. They just wanted a good show. We gave them a _great_ show. 

“Do it!” he insists. “Somebody has to go home. Somebody has to win.” 

“No.” I shake my head finally. “I won’t.” 

Peeta Mellark has saved me in more ways than I can count. And I’ll never ever leave here without him. Even if I win. Even if I go home. I’ll still be stuck inside this arena forever, reliving the same nightmare for all of eternity.

“I love you, Katniss,” he says. I know he does. I don’t know how I could have ever doubted it. “I’ve loved you for a very long time. And I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to tell you that. But I do. And I won’t kill you.” 

He tells me that my family needs me. It’s different for him. There’s nothing left for him in District 12 without me. Nobody else he really cares about. Nobody who needs him. 

He’s wrong. 

 _I_ do. 

I need him. 

I throw down my bow and arrow in disgust and kiss him. I kiss him like nobody’s watching, even if thousands of eyes are trained on us right now, wondering what we’ll do next. I kiss him not for any single one of those people: not for the audience, not for the sponsors, not for the Gamemakers, not for the Capitol. There’s no strategy here, no farewell kiss for star-crossed lovers. Not one second of it is for the Games. 

I kiss him for me. I never want to stop kissing him. 

He pushes me away at last, a pained expression on his face. “I know it’s not real. I know you’ve just been trying to survive this whole time.” I open my mouth to object, but he continues. “And I don’t blame you at all. That’s all I want from you, too. I want you to live.” He holds up his arms in surrender. “So _live._ ” 

“It _is_ real, though,” I assert. “Maybe I was pretending at first. I did what I needed to do to survive. For both of us to survive. But it’s not like that anymore. I…” My voice wobbles. “I love you too, Peeta.” 

The words surprise me as much as they surprise him, his pupils dilating in shock. But I don’t regret them at all. Because I know it’s true. I love him with everything I am. 

Suddenly, I’m angry. More than angry. _Furious_. I pull the Nightlock out of my pocket defiantly. The Gamemakers won’t have their victor. Why should they? Besides, I have an idea. 

Peeta notices the lethal berries and quickly clamps my wrist, trying to stop me. “No, I won’t let you.” But I ask him to trust me as I pour some of them into his palm. Finally, he does. Then on the count of three, we raise them to our mouths. 

The berries just pass my lips as I hear Claudius Templesmith call out in a frantic voice. “Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!”

 

****

  
  
The next day, I wake up in Peeta’s bed instead.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Prompts in Panem, Day 6. April 2015. You can find me on tumblr under myusernamehere. Come say hi!


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